Vergetelheid
by JustCallMeMarly
Summary: Dick Winters never let himself contemplate over what the most difficult part of the war could be. At least, not until it plays out right in front of his eyes...


_**Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I have any affiliation with Band of Brothers, the series, the book or the real people. Based on the stories & interactions within the HBO series only…**_

**_Set during 'Replacements'_**

* * *

Vergetelheid

* * *

It was late. Very late. Or very early, depending on how a person looked at it. Eindhoven was now quiet as there was probably nothing or nobody left to bomb. The 506th's makeshift campsite a few miles outside the Dutch town was the typical quiet as many soldiers attempted shut-eye and the night watch kept an eye out for anything worth reporting. He'd 'dug in' a long time ago, but as was now habit, he could only comfortably rest a few hours before becoming restless and alert again. Such was life on the line. Every day was a worry in Europe. It was tough to function in a place where random artillery could catch a person unaware on a particularly quiet day.

But that was not the current worry. The current worry was that the spot next to him in the foxhole was empty. And from appearances, it had been empty since the moment he had dropped off into a needed sleep. Usually when the spot next to him was empty in the quiet times of the war, it usually meant that Capt. Lewis Nixon was up to his elbows in some regimental or battalion happening that he would be sure to hear about the next day. And for all the pain in the rear that regiment or battalion could be, they would not have requested Nix's presence at this hour without him being aware of it.

For Capt. Richard Winters, that meant one thing. He let out a sigh as he stood in his foxhole and stretched his still-tired muscles. It had been a day of blows. The loss of good men, the wounding of many more, the ambiguous loss of Bull Randleman, the retreat from Nuenen, the failure of Operation Market Garden, the many close calls… The list went on. But one moment stood out in his mind, here in the darkness, amid the quiet chattering of Easy Company. It was, no doubt, the very moment that had driven his best friend away from the easy camaraderie of the handful of men that were still awake.

As he walked around haphazardly dug foxholes, his eyes roamed over the men, hoping that a familiar dark, scruffy head would be there. But he knew better. And so did Sgt. Carwood Lipton as he caught the other man's eye from where he sat with a few other Easy soldiers. With a small, almost indiscernible smile, Lip shook his head to the unvoiced question. He did not know where Nix had gone.

Lt. Harry Welsh sat in a foxhole just a few more feet away, joking with Sgt. John Martin. When the Irishman looked up at him, it was with the familiar gap-toothed smile.

"Evening, Cap'n. Come to join the rabble-rousing with us mortals?" he asked with a slight drawl that bespoke of distilled hydration. Harry's face took on a more serious note as he realized that the spot next to Dick was empty and there was a worried look on the commanding officer's face. He sat up straighter. "Nix?"

There was an unspoken question in the tone of the lieutenant's voice. _Had he actually been injured and we hadn't caught it?_ Dick shook his head with a reassuring smile.

"I was about to ask the same of you," he commented. More at ease, Harry just grinned his unique grin once more.

"Maybe he went to ask the Germans for some Vat 69?" he asked. Next to him, Martin chuckled.

"Knowing him, he'd probably be able to get it, too," the sergeant said of Nix's persuasive and generally likeable nature. Dick gave a small twitch of his lips that usually passed for a smile.

"Probably," he said then let out a sigh. "I don't want to have to assemble a search party…" Harry chuckled.

"Just let me know, Dick. I'll put some Vat on a string," the lieutenant teased. Dick gave him a small warning look, despite his amusement. Harry may have been part of the 'Three Musketeers', but there was a line that Dick wouldn't let anyone cross in mocking Nix. And that was teasing the man without him being there to enjoy it…

"I'll keep that in mind, Harry," was his comment as he stood up, causing both men in the foxhole to chuckle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It didn't take too much longer to finally locate the prodigal soldier. All Dick had to do was find the point furthest from 'camp' that Nix could go without classifying as desertion… Nix always liked flirting with the boundaries of regulation.

"There you are…" Dick said, holding back the sigh of relief, as he spotted his dark-haired best friend sitting against a tree. "I thought I'd have to send out a search squad."

Nix's helmet-free head bobbed to one side, as it usually did after a whole bottle of Vat 69, as he regarded his approaching comrade. His dark eyes were a little unfocused and a lot stormy. As it was, the U.S. Army captain had perched himself on the far edge of their current battalion stakeout. As far away as he could from the temporary jocularity their small reprieve provided in his attempt at achieving oblivion.

"Think I could have Doc Roe start an I.V.?" he asked, shaking the now-empty whisky bottle at the other man. Dick could only sigh as he went to sit next to the slightly drunken man. Sitting a few feet away in front of them was Nix's helmet – almost like it was engaging both men in a staring contest of sorts.

"What are you doing all the way out here, Nix? You should be in a foxhole sleeping. And you should have a helmet on." Dick had a rather astute feeling as to what his friend was doing without needing to ask. But he'd asked anyway.

"Getting drunk…" There was a slight pause before the added emphasis. "… er." Dick couldn't help but smile a little at the rather apparent comment from his friend. And he should have known that Nix would reply in that mordantly honest way of his. The man was perpetually sardonic. Even among the brass. It was part of his charm, but it was also an eternal frustration.

"Alright, the obvious already being obvious, what _else_ are you doing out here?" Nix let out a groan.

"Christ, Dick. You just want me to say it out loud, don't you?" he asked. Dick gave him a half smile.

"Yes." It was a simple answer. And Dick could see the battle waging in Nix's dark glare. To tell or not to tell. To admit weakness in a place and time that didn't forgive such a thing. After another tense moment, Dick decided to spare his best friend.

"Fine. I'll tell you what I think you're doing," he said. Nix rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree.

"Enlighten me, cuz I'm not all that sure I know what I'm doing," he grumbled.

"I think you are out here contemplating your mortality," Dick said sagely. Nix snorted.

"Like I haven't been doing _that_ since being under Sobel's command. Trust me, mortality was at the top of my list since I wanted to put myself out of my misery every time the man opened his mouth," he replied, closing his eyes. Dick looked over his friend's face. For the first time in weeks, Lewis Nixon looked semi-relaxed. Of course, he attributed it to the empty bottle of Vat 69 and knew that once Nix opened his eyes his features would pinch and his body would tense again.

Dick let his eyes wander over the two inch dark strip of skin on the left side Nix's forehead. A millimeter… a millimeter difference in position and Nix would not be sitting here. How that bullet had made it through the man's helmet leaving only a burn mark behind would always be a miracle Dick would never understand. Two holes and a burn mark were enough to keep them both from thinking it hadn't happened. Dick swallowed hard as he replayed that sickening moment over in his head in slow motion. Watching Nix fall to the ground had been one of the hardest things he'd had to do this war so far… and he's not quite sure he wanted to know what could top it.

"If I thought you'd drink it, I would have saved you a finger of whisky," Nix's voice interrupted his thoughts. When Dick looked over, he saw that Nix hadn't even opened his eyes.

"I'm glad you didn't hold your breath, then," he responded. A ghost of a smirk flitted over the dark-haired man's face.

"It's Vat 69, Dick. If I could, I'd breathe _it_ instead of air." Dick rolled his eyes.

"At least you're honest," he told him with a chuckle. This time the smirk turned into a grin.

"People who think that I have even a remote grip on sobriety don't know me well at all. Nobody would like me sober, anyways. I'm polite, even-tempered and a complete bore," he said. Silence fell as Dick tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position while sitting on the uneven ground. After a moment, he gave up and stood. There was still a slight glow in the night sky as the fires of Eindhoven burned on. His gaze was on that rubble as he voiced his thought.

"You almost died today, Nix," he said softly. When he looked down to where his friend sat, he was almost startled to see brown eyes fixed squarely on him.

"Who, exactly, is contemplating my mortality?" the response came. There was no hint of rebuke in the statement as the dark-haired man stood. Dick didn't reach out to help him. Part of it was because he knew Nix's pride, and the other part was because it reassured him to see his best friend perform such an insignificant action.

"Hell, I could have died on the jump, Dick, and you weren't worried about it then. You've almost died countless times in the past how many days and you probably don't even realize it. God knows what situations we're going to come across tomorrow or the next day. What's so special about that?" It was Dick's turn to close his eyes. He could hear the sound of the bullet hitting Nix's helmet. He could see him, again, falling to the ground out of the corner of his eye. He could, again, feel that moment of bone-deep dread.

"You were standing right next to me," he said, swallowing hard. Nix had been right next to him and there had been nothing he could have done to prevent what could have happened. If that helmet hadn't been there, Dick would have watched his closest friend die. He'd watched plenty of other men in their company do that very thing, _with_ helmets, but he'd never once thought Nix could be one of them. It had been one reason he'd been thankful for Nix's promotion to intelligence officer before they'd shipped out. It kept him off the line…

"Oh, I see now," Nix said, a grin forming. "This isn't so much about my mortality as it is about your reputation of being bullet-proof." Dick glared at him in response. Nix just pat his friend on the shoulder before he could contradict the conclusion.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't heard the rumors, you Quaker."

"If you had a drop of that swill you poison yourself with left, I'd probably drink it," Dick said with a sigh. How he thought his best friend would fully understand the point after a bottle of whiskey was really beyond him. Nix pat his pants and coat pockets, confirming the lack of said drink.

"Fresh out. Rain check?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, intrigued that his teetotaler friend would even suggest such a thing. This time it was Dick who smiled.

"One time offer," he said, watching in amusement as Nix's face fell in disappointment.

"Damn…"

"You just wanted another rumor to spread," Dick accused. Nix shrugged.

"I'm human," he retorted. Dick's blue eyes turned serious again.

"Yeah," he said, drawing out the word. "Yeah." Nix turned to look out at the town that had once been their lively host town while he lit a cigarette, and Dick's gaze stayed on him. In this moment he couldn't help but think that the one man he could very much call his best friend was purposefully trying to cut his life short. Drinking, smoking, _volunteering_ to go to war… It bespoke of demons that Dick knew were there long before they'd had the honor of meeting at OCS.

"You're human, too, Dick," Nix said on an exhale of smoke. He watched as Dick bent to pick up the military green helmet he'd disregarded earlier.

"I'm fully aware of that," he said as he stood up again, shifting his weight so that he could flex his foot. A ricocheted parting gift from Carentan. It still stiffened up on him occasionally.

"Good," Nix said with a grin around the cigarette. "Don't want that red beacon of yours floating away on all of that ego…" Dick rolled his eyes at the teasing. It was on the tip of his tongue to say it wasn't ego, it was Pennsylvania Dutch pride, but it would have opened a whole new can of wit from Lewis Nixon.

"Now that we have that all figured out, can we get back to the foxholes? You're taking a chance with snipers out here," he commented, looking around the shadows.

"Snipers?" Nix looked around to the fire-ridden town again. "They've toasted the town, Dick. What are they going to stick around to shoot at?"

"The U.S. Army, Nix," Dick commented as he handed his friend his helmet. Nix let his cigarette dangle carelessly from his lips as he took the piece of metal & plopped it on his head only because he knew Dick wanted him to. Who was he to deny his friend a rarely made request?

"Well, then. Let's not make the job too easy then, shall we? Lead the way…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nix gave a half-snort, half-laugh as he jumped down into the standard Army foxhole. Dick watched as his friend sat down and propped himself in the corner, pulling out his ever-present flask as he did so.

"Foxholes. Funny things. Big enough to have grown men huddle into. Do you think they invented foxholes to make it easier to bury people?" The question made Dick's blood run cold, even though he knew it was a repercussion of the man's alcohol induced contemplation. Before he could answer back, his best friend continued.

"Think about it… all they have to do is fill in the dirt. How convenient, seeing as we've done half of the job for them. We're walking dead men who come with our own graves! Ain't war grand?" Nix chuckled before he took a drink from his flask. Dick stared at the babbling man. Apparently sleep was beginning to set in - another result of Nix's relationship with Vat 69. He jumped into the foxhole, too, and sat next to Nix.

"Maudlin thoughts tonight, Lew," he commented as he settled back against the wall of dirt. The dark-haired man shrugged.

"You have a bullet find its way through your helmet with your head still in it and _not_ think about death and its accessories sometimes," he said flippantly as he grabbed the scrap of metal from his head.

"Foxholes aren't accessories. They're fixed position cover. They're necessities," Dick said, his eyes closed. The snort from his comrade was predictable.

"For whom?" he asked. When Dick opened his eyes, he found Nix staring at the two holes in the helmet that was designed to protect him. Neither man could say that it hadn't that day.

Silence fell, but the niggling sense of discomfort lessened somewhat as Nix put the helmet back atop the messy brown hair.

"I'm going to go check in with regiment," Dick said as he stood, now too awake to think about closing his eyes. He watched as Nix settled back.

"Come get me in twenty. I'm sure regiment will want to harangue me about something before the sun rises," he grumbled. Both knew that once Nix closed his eyes there would be no moving him until daylight. There wasn't much more to be said, so the redhead turned to go. But there was one thing…

"Just so you know, Nix," Dick said, turning to look directly at his friend. "I would have missed you. A little bit." His best friend opened one eye to see Dick giving him a tiny smirk. Nix closed his eyes again and grinned before dipping his flawed helmet over his eyes.

"So _now_ you decide to get a sense of humor?" he asked, pulling his coat closer around him to ward off the chill in the air. "And tell Harry that the Germans were fresh out."

Dick could only answer with a chuckle before he walked back into the war. Lewis Nixon wasn't an intelligence officer for nothing. And he would be fine for tonight. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Het Einde

* * *

_**Note: as far as I'm aware... Vergetelheid = Dutch for 'oblivion'**_


End file.
